


Promises

by rehancel



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow & Related Fandoms
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Fluff, Future Fic, Like a teensy bit of angst, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Post-Watford (Simon Snow), Sentimental stuff i guess, Watford (Simon Snow), Yes it is a Christmas fic in the middle of July
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-20
Updated: 2020-07-20
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:01:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25395043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rehancel/pseuds/rehancel
Summary: Christmas is a special time.Or, a timeline of Simon and Baz at Christmas.
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 7
Kudos: 60





	Promises

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shushu_yaoi_lj](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shushu_yaoi_lj/gifts).



> This is a gift for [ llamapyjamas](https://llamapyjamas.tumblr.com/) for the Carry On Exchange. (Sorry this took so long) Hope you like it :)

Christmas is a special time.

At least, that’s what Simon has heard, from all the gaudy advertisements that line the streets, and the grainy Christmas reruns that play on the single television in the orphanage. Sometimes the adults put up decorations, cheap excuses of stockings trying to light up the greyed out, dreary place. Maybe they made the little kids feel happier, seeing all the faded reds and greens around, but Simon couldn’t say for sure. But he did know that for the rest of them, it was all a pretence.

The only special thing about Christmas was perhaps the donated cookies they sometimes get, and if they’re lucky, an extra half hour past their bedtime. They didn’t bother with a tree, the only one they had fell apart some time ago. No one has donated a new one, and clearly purchasing one is out of the question, so the corner the tree would have stood in stayed cluttered with things thrown haphazardly about.

Sometimes the radio would play Christmas songs, about how Santa would come and give them all presents if they were good. Well Santa clearly didn’t bother about them. Either that, or they were simply not good enough. Simon used to believe that, when he was much younger, and would spend the month of December leading up to Christmas trying to be nice. Not that it ever worked anyway.

He tried not to let it get to him, what’s the big deal anyway? It didn’t matter. But yet every year as he lay on his small bed in a room with ten others, he would think back to what the movies always said, that Christmas was a time for family. Simon wished he could have a family to spend Christmas with too.

The adults like to tell them that they were extremely lucky, that they should think about what they were grateful for, in hopes of another year full of more things to be grateful for. Lies, Simon thought, all lies. What were those words, other than more empty promises? Simon told himself that repeatedly. But yet at the back of all that, every Christmas, a tiny spark of hope still flickered, that maybe that year, Christmas would be special.

* * *

Simon and Baz spent Christmas together once, in seventh year. Well they didn’t _really_ , but it was the most civil they had been all year, and it just happened to be nearly Christmas. Simon had nowhere to go, Agatha’s family couldn’t have him over this year, and the Mage hadn’t been in for a while. He was standing around in the room, swinging his sword around agitatedly. Barely anyone stayed at school for the holidays, he’d be alone. He wasn’t looking forward to it.

When Baz opened the door he was greeted with a shirtless, sweaty Simon angrily brandishing his sword, all heat and smoke in the room. “Why are you still here?” Simon asked brusquely.

Baz had an answer right on the tip of his tongue, something sharp and bitter and cruel, but he didn’t say anything, he was too tired. He just dragged his feet over to his bed and flopped down. Gracefully, Simon noted, he’s graceful even when plopping down on his bed. His sword had disappeared, leaving him empty-handed and awkwardly standing in the middle of the room, too close to Baz’s side.

Baz open an eye to see Simon staring at him oddly. “Oh you’ll be rid of me soon enough, stop worrying,” “You usually leave earlier,”

Baz sighed, loud and dramatic. “Not this year,” he said. He’d have to leave, eventually, but just… not now. He didn’t feel like dealing with everyone at home.

The air in the room was funny, lacking the usual acidity it held. Baz was acting weird. Simon didn’t know what to make of it.

Baz stood up suddenly, a determined look on his face, and made his way to the door. He paused, turning ever so slightly, as if knowing that Simon would still be standing there, confused. “Are you going to follow me again?” There’s a tilt in his voice that Simon doesn’t seem to mind. He just stands there, blinking. “Come on, then, I don’t have all day. ” Baz opened the door and made his way down the steps.

Simon followed, after a few moments. Because he has to, he told himself, Baz was so _weird_.

He followed Baz’s figure out, his rippling shadow on the ground beckoning Simon, tugging him to follow along. Baz turned around once, a swish of his hair around and a curl to his lip, but then he just turned back and continued forward more determined than ever. He took Simon to one of the buildings, round the side stairway to a stone landing beside a wall crawled with vines. There was a mural a little further up, faded paint barely discernible against the rough stone.

“My mother used to do this on Christmas,” Baz said after a while, as means of an explanation. “Take me to somewhere new and tell me it was a promise.” He paused for a moment. “A promise that’d I could keep seeing more, more of the world, more… whatever,” He seemed almost nervous. Simon shuffled to stand by Baz, now gazing out to the view of the courtyard below, the White Chapel’s walls bright in the dim moonlight.

Baz turned to Simon, a funny expression on his face. “Merry Christmas, Snow,” 

* * *

The next Christmas was different, it was messy and impulsive and hot and…new. Simon had made a promise, he’d help Baz find who killed his mother. And that night, it was hot and smoky and wet. Baz had stopped the car abruptly in the middle of nowhere, ducking into the woods, leaving Simon chasing him.

There was fire everywhere, and it was all red, and in the middle of it all was Baz, tears running down his face and too much pain in the sharp words he threw.

Simon kissed him, then, he didn’t think, he didn’t know what else to do. And it seemed, that in that one moment, everything in their lives had shifted by a bit, just a little bit, and that marginal shift seemed to click everything in place.

And he did it again, later, back in Baz’s room, another fire burning behind them, this time nestled in a fireplace. Something trembled between them, in the midst of the whispered confessions and touches that for the first time have no malice behind them, there was an intimacy in the warmth they shared. Years of hate and rivalry melted down into nothing when their lips brushed, when they felt like maybe in that one moment, they had finally found something good. And In each other’s embrace that night, there was a closeness that seemed to hold a sort of promise .

* * *

The next time Christmas came around it felt like time had passed too fast. Was it so long ago that they’d found each other in the middle of a burning forest?

They were in the car, windows down with the cold December air around them, wrapped up in coats, cheeks rosy from the breeze. They’d just left a Christmas party, “Wanna get out of here?” Baz had whispered into Simon’s ear.

“Where are we going?” Simon asked in the car, later on. “You’ll see,” Baz looked over at Simon, grey eyes twinkling under the street lamps. Then the road ahead seemed to get brighter and when Simon looked out the entire street was lit up with lights. Golden sparks of light draped like curtains across the street, in the shape of angels and stars and trees and snowflakes. There was a Christmas tree curtained in rippling colours at the intersection ahead, as throngs of people crowded the sidewalks.

When Simon turned back to Baz, his eyes alight with excitement, Baz was looking at him, a fond smile on his face. At the end of the street Baz took another turn, down several smaller streets until he slowed. “My mother used to take me here,” He said, and when he finally turned Simon couldn’t believe his eyes. If the streets before were amazing then this… this was something else altogether. The lights here, white and blue, seemed to be raining on them, arranged like showers of stars. At the back of his mind Simon can hear, vaguely, some years ago, twinkle twinkle little star and how their room had turned into a starry night sky. But when he feels Baz take his hand the words die on his tongue, and he feels a bubbling warmth in his chest when he looks over at Baz again. “We’re here to look at the lights, not each other, Snow,” Baz says teasingly, and Simon can’t help but lean over and kiss him, whispering, “They’re not as beautiful as you.” Baz says nothing, just curls his arm tighter around Simon’s.

“If you want, we can do this every year,” Baz pushes the words gently into the still air. Simon squeezes Baz’s hand and smiles, nodding slowly, before turning back to look out at the street. 

* * *

The floor of the flat feels particularly cozy tonight, as the hours count down to Christmas. They’re seated on the floor, well, Baz seated, Simon half-sprawled all over the carpet, his head bumping against Baz’s thigh. There’s a soft droning tune from television, whatever movie they are playing has come to an end.

Empty boxes of takeaway are stacked on the coffee table, a midnight snack they’d ran out to get in their pyjamas pants just for the fun of it. They ended up running back as the cold air wrapped round their legs, slightly delirious and giggling all the way.

Simon is twirling a chopstick wrapper in his hand, fidgeting with the flimsy paper, when he looks up to watch Baz, a strand of hair curving round his cheek, his features especially distinct under the dim cove lights. Simon reaches for Baz’s hand above his head, tugging absent-mindedly at his long fingers when he asks, “Wanna get married someday?” as he fits the chopstick wrapper, now in the shape of a ring, on Baz’s finger.

“What!?” Baz’s tone makes Simon raise his head up from the floor. Baz is staring at him incredulously. “Yeah, like,” Simon waves a hand around. “You know, get married—“

“Is this—“ Baz splutters, “Are you proposing? Right now?” Simon sits up now, flushing red. “Yes, I guess?” At Baz’s expression he adds. “Or not. I mean it’s a possibility, you don’t have to say yes, I—“

“Have you looked under the tree?” Baz interrupts, an indecipherable expression on his face. Simon frowns, confused. “Go get the gift from under the tree, the blue one.”

The paper ring is still halfway on Baz’s finger as Simon brings the blue gift over, Baz is determinedly not looking at his hand. “Open it,” Baz says.

“But it isn’t Christmas yet,”

“In a while it will be, just open it,” Simon pauses for a second before hesitantly starting to tear off the wrapper paper. Another box is revealed, Simon looks up questioningly. “ _Open it_ ,” Baz seems almost impatient.

Simon lifts the cover off, and in the middle of the it is a small, dark blue box. A ring box. He picks it up slowly, and it opens to reveal a ring glinting gently in the centre of a velvet cushion.

“I was going to propose to you, idiot,” Baz says, “But, I guess I have my answer.” He raises his hand up, where the paper ring still sits halfway down his knuckle. Simon’s smile is impossibly huge, Baz can’t help but feel himself return it. “I’ve been planning this for weeks,” He shakes his head, and Simon reaches across to brush his hair out of his eyes. “And you bloody beat me to it.”

“You still can,” Simon grabs Baz’s hand and sets the paper ring properly on his finger. “Propose, I mean,”

Baz thinks for a moment, then slips his fingers into Simon’s. He swallows. “It’s been eleven years since the Crucible put us together, nine years since I wanted to kiss you, five years since you kissed me on Christmas Eve, and four years since we moved in here,”

“Simon,” He meets Simon’s eyes now, both of them barely breathing, afraid to break the fragile tension that holds in the air between them. “I’ve loved you for more than half my life, and I’m going to spend all the years of my life continuing to do so. So... will you let me?” His voice drops to a soft whisper. “Simon Snow, will you marry me?”

Simon _might_ be getting teary, he leans over and kisses Baz. When they break apart Baz’s eyes are wet too. “Do I still need to say yes?”

Baz laughs. “Let me put the ring on you, you big oaf.”

When they finally do get the ring on, they lace their hands together. The silver ring sits on Simon’s bronze finger, and the white paper ring is nestled on Baz’s pale one. They start laughing then, holding on to each other as giddy giggles fill the air. Blue eyes meet grey as Simon and Baz lean on each other, their hands still entwined.

“I’ll annoy you forever,” Simon mumbles, and Baz nods, “I’m counting on it”, and it’s another promise lain between them as the clock strikes twelve. Because after all, Christmas has always been a special time for them.


End file.
